Please excuse the comma splices, tense changes, verbosity, etc. I was just a youngin' and now I realize the error of my grammatical ways. Plus, I preferred the flowery and descriptive writing styles of the early 19th century and beyond rather than the short, journalistic post-Hemingway-style of writing. I love intense imagery and descriptions in general. Still deciding whether I should edit my old poetry for grammar mistakes or take the Beatnik approach and fuck it.

Disclaimer: I only wrote/write on bad days. Grand days have never inspired me enough to write as I've always used writing as an outlet. A majority of my poetry is angsty, dark humored, or depressing, however, I don't have depression, and I'm not self-destructive or suicidal by any means. My writing is mostly a tenfold representation of the kind of day I was having at the time. Embellishing the realities of my bad days on paper helped turn them into good days. Not sticking my head into an oven anytime soon (or ever, actually). :P +10 points if you got the reference.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment

Monday, August 6, 2012

Grafitti Heart

(Meant to be spoken word or "slam" poetry to be spoken between an andante and moderato tempo [around 100BPM])

Emo heart--
Tortured, battered matter.

Graffiti on a blackboard,
Left like I left you.

Lawless, spineless love.

Beat -- 2, 3, 4.

Graffiti on a blackboard,
Nothing ever there.

Beat -- 2, 3, 4.

Nails on a chalkboard,
Shall I speak now?

Beat -- 2, 3, 4.

Nail 2 the heart--
Blood escapes now.

Beat -- 2, 3, 4.

Hard on the heart--
Life pressed against it.

Beat -- 2, 3, 4.

Shout, whisper, hum.

Kiss, smooch, grope.

Tickled pink and voiceless.

Happy, yet dead inside.

Noiseless heart speaks loud.

Tremors of the heart and
Terrors of the minded.

Beat -- 2, 3, 4.


Copyright © 2008

Sunday, November 15, 2009

A Day at the Palace

"Let them eat cake,"
She sneered as she
Held a cup of sadness
'Companied by a plateful of
Degraded humanity;
That was on the menu tonight.

Bedazzled with jewels
Mined by peasants beneath her.

Liaisons with men in
Salons during afternoon tea
As Amadeus plays delightful
Laments and requiems
As she eats her cake
And exchanges cordials.

A wall away from nouveau revolutionaries
Erect on barricade
Equipped to invade.

Fallen society,
Gained notoriety.

Glass cup hits floor,
Glass is glitter and glamour,
Which sprinkles on stairs,
For she will fall
As flames hit wall.

Aristocracy expires.

Common man has won,
War has just begun.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

2-minute Haiku


we're in the circus
husky shoes accompany
we all drive small cars

Hammerhead Shark

chomp goes her sharp teeth
munching flotsam and jetsam
adored brevity

Coffee Break

strangle latte boy
need a caffeine pick-me-up
where is my coffee

Friday, August 21, 2009

The Adventures of Josie Appleseed

One day, a shoeless young girl was walking alone in the wilderness without a map. She was lost and could only pay attention to where she was heading. The girl was uncertain of her current location, and she did not want lose her current pace. As a result, she did not turn around to ask for directions.

The girl continued along a rocky pathway through a grove of apple trees. She gazed upon the bushels of apples, and wondered why they were left unpicked. The apples' luster amazed and intrigued her, as the translucent sheen they emitted stood out from the rest of the natural terrain.

Expecting a truly mesmerizing taste, she grabbed one of the apples from the tree and took a bite. She soon spat out the apple, as she realized they were worm-infested crab apples. She tossed the apple on the ground, hoping in time a new apple tree with brilliant crimson apples would sprout from the recalled apple she had attempted to eat. Without thinking, she took another apple from the tree, and bit into it. Her taste buds, already numb from the sourness of the previously discarded apple, withstood the taste.

She continued walking along the rubble as the soles of her feet reacted to the rough road with their generous donations of blood. A sticker they did not receive, nor a pat on the back, nor a merit of honor. The girl knew her feet would callous eventually, so she continued advancing further toward her unknown destination with the apple still in hand.

Copyright © 2009

Life Through the Eyes of a Preskooler [sic]

Wouldn't it be grand to go back in time? The three through six age range enticed me greatly. Back then, life was simple. The greatest fears you had involved losing a tooth, the neighbor's scary nipping chihuahua, or the thought of getting either a time out or a spanking if you threw a fit 'cause your parents wouldn't let you buy that Barbie doll or Hot Wheels car set that occupied the highest shelf at Toys 'R' Us, just out of reach of your barely 4-foot tall frame.

You were often awestruck by the little things, like bubbles dancing through the air as they sporadically popped right in front of your eyes, or finding out you were small enough to ride on the back of the neighbor's dog like a horse. Personally, I was never a big fan of bubbles. Somehow, they would always end up popping in my face. I swear I must have been farsighted as a child.

I miss the good ol' days...when it was safe to color outside of the lines, spill flour all over the kitchen, and give the neighbor's dog or your sibling (but really, what's the difference? ;]) a free haircut. When the worst thing Heather or Tommy could say to you was "Shut up" or "You can't play with us."

Now, a majority of children, adolescents, and adults who belong to Generation Y and Y2K are procrastinating, lazy, selfish, arrogant, rude, impractical, immoral, close-minded, ignorant, and materialistic barbarians from Planet I-Want-It-Now with considerably minute attention spans.

The only thing on our mind consists of either purchasing a wardrobe worth more than someone's annual salary or complaining about how hard we have it, how much our life sucks, and how "we all just wanna be big rock stars and live in hilltop houses, drivin' fifteen cars. The girls come easy, and the drugs come cheap. We'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat." You get the picture.

Yeah, I basically just insulted myself, but I'll live as I brew my fresh hot cup of hypocrisy. We need to END this stereotype and revert back to simpler times.

"I have to write a five page essay, and it's due in a week!"

"I'm calling in sick 'cause I have the worst cold ever."

"I got grounded. My life is over."

"I got a 'D' on my test."

"They cancelled The Hills!"

"They can't make me run the mile in Phys. Ed."

*drops object on floor*

"Eh, someone else will clean it up. Why should I have to?"

"I'm not going swimming for gym - the chlorine will dry out my hair."

"Why pay for college when I can buy these insanely cute shoes?!"

*a month later*

Seventeen says these shoes are out of style. Better go buy some more!"

*watches TV*

"I wish I were that pretty/skinny/beautiful/gorgeous/ripped/muscular/hot..."

If you're lucky, when you start climbing over that huge hill and come across Mid-life Crisis Peak in your brand spankin' new Italian leather shoes, you may still have that end-of-the-alphabet cup size, those monstrous biceps, or enough 6-packs to run Budweiser out of business, but thanks to society, that's all that matters! Why have an IQ of 130 when you would rather have A NEW CAR!?

*brought to you by The Price is Right*

Life gradually appears to be increasingly complicated due to our failure to see how out of control we have become as humans. The Y2K scare is coming true, and honestly, I am terrified of how our world will turn out once our generation becomes the main inhabitant of this finite planet.

"My job got outsourced to India. I don't know how I'm going to financially support my family." Why is this my problem?

"Bernie Madoff made off with my life savings." Who's Bernie Madoff?

"The bank owns my house 'cause I couldn't pay back my home loans." What are they talking about?

"I lost my home in the flood, and everything in it. I lost my pictures, and the place I grew up, and I'll never be able to resurrect the memories." Cry me a river, I still have my new car...

Instead of fighting over a box of crayons with Heather and Tommy, we'll be nuking each other 'cause our politicians told us to ...

Unless the living generations of the world can contribute to this kick ass planet in some form, aside from benefitting our economy and increasing the abundance of plants through the exhalation of CO2, the generations will be banished from this godforsaken planet as they are relentlessly stomped on by throngs of passersby with massive Jimmy Choo pumps.

Irony will always prevail. That is all.

Copyright © 2009

A Perplexed Generation

Clinking can,
Carried by wind,
Flounders through zephyr,
Meant for blue bin,

Packets of paper,
Thrashing about,
Skimming through air,
With wings of wren,

Plastic bottles,
Propelled by wind,
Kicked to curb,
Wanders 'long road,

Nostrils remain uninhabited -
Kleenex becomes a rarity.

Buildings remain dark -
Energy prices escalate.

Homes remain frigid -
Insulation is scarce.

Game boards collect dust -
Now obsolete.

Our perplexed generation -

Copyright © 2009

Monday, March 23, 2009

A Man for All Seasons

On sale now for a limited time: tall, dark, and handsome.

Buy one, get one free,
Better get em’ while they last,
They don’t come cheap.

Arm candy strung upon your limb,
This season’s Prada bag,
Thrown away—
Out of season.

Perpetual April rain remains evident.

Don’t look back into the incessant Sun.

Leaves may fall.

Wear him like a coat during winter—

Copyright © 2009

Non-Existent Motives

I laugh at myself in the mirror.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Why should I care?
Why do I care?

Wasting hours wondering—
How my hair looks
How much weight I've lost
How I can get a date

Why ask questions when you know the answers?

Much brought on by life—
Useless rubbish.

Does it matter—
How much oxygen we waste
How many candles we blow out
How many times we say, “Hello”

Why live a lie when there is no truth?

No point in moving on,
Or starting off fresh,
Or living up to expectations.

Eh, what the hell, I’m—
Dropping my comb
Grabbing the Doritos
Hanging up the phone

What’s the point?

Don’t confuse with apathy,
You’d have to care enough to classify life.

Copyright © 2009


I tightly clutch onto lace curtain,
Refuse to end up 6-feet below,
Patch of Kentucky blue grass,
Keeping me safe from rain that seeps,
Into earthen cracks above my cardboard box.

My smile,
Eroded with the compost,
Made the grass green,
The days short and sweet.

The air has evaporated,
I gasp for oxygen.

Asphyxiated by reality,
Comforted by illusions.

Ears cannot hear my cries for help,
As I scratch on the box,
My name,
I cannot remember.

I remain homeless,
Till I finally decompose.

Forever exiled and confined to this place,
Not even God can save my soul,
He mocks my attempts,
To break the latch.

Copyright © 2009

First-Time Flyer

I came back from my mother-in-law's house today,
She screamed at me in a strange Nordic language,
As if I could understand her,
After I messed around with her custom-made alpine skiis.

I did,
But I acted like I had no clue,
What this angry, tense lady was saying,
As I packed my suitcase,
Filling it with crap I didn't need.

Bottles of dried up aloe vera that smelled like Crest toothpaste,
10-year old jugs of Jamaican rum filled with sand,
Okay, hold the rum,
Just sand,
For some reason,
A broken umberella that looked like Tim Burton's rendition of Mary Poppins,
And a plastered smile.

I got to the airport,
Anxious about my relations with my mother-in-law,
After all,
The woman's face looked like a safety-recalled Coach purse.

Well, I approached airport security,
"Take your shoes off, ma'am," they tell me,
Surely, they must be insinuating something.

Now, don't take this the wrong way,
I love guys,
But I'm not the type of girl who likes to roam around.

I went berserk on the security guard,
"Well, I've never!"
I yelled,
As I hit him with my Fuicci knock-off.

I got my Fuicci from a street peddler in the Bronx.
Hey, if no one knows,
What's the harm?


I lost the battle of Fuicci vs. truncheon.

Despite what they show in Cops,
Tasers hurt,
I now have burn marks,
End of story.

Come to think of it,
Cops wear Axe,
Axe smells bad.

Anyways, they let me go after I plead insanity,
Told them the crazy Russian guy from Seinfeld forced me to do it,
Payback for not letting me have free cable.

I stomped off in my Scandinavian Dalmatian-spotted tube socks,
Not a care in the world,
Just want my damn shoes they made me take off,
Only take-off I want right now involves a plane and a runway.

I looked over past the security checkpoint,
And saw a man dawning drag,
No shoes,
Yellow nylons that appeared to suffer from jaundice,
either that or the feelings between him and coffee are not mutual.

I then ran off to catch my flight,
Hopefully, the pilot isn't high off of airplane fumes,
There was this one time in Houston...

Copyright © 2009

Saturday, March 21, 2009

A Misanthropist's Grocery List

I need an inoculation of artificial happiness.
--Eh, it’ll probably only hurt for a second—the happiness, not the inoculation.

I need Novocain.
--Go to dentist when done shopping—bring $70.

I need a dose of reality.
--Doctor said to take 7 capsules every hour—call him in the morning.

I need a steel trapezoid to remind myself I’m still alive.
--Head to Hardware Department—ask for X-Acto.

I need an enabler.
--Call Susan and see if she would be up for the task.

I need endorphins. (<- picture a strikeout here)
--Screw it—not possible with X-Acto.

I need a fix.

What’s my vice, you ask?


Copyright © 2009

The Partnership of Sol and Luna

I now pronounce you Sun and Moon,
You may kiss the sky.

No love at first sight,
Sol evades Luna,
Luna eludes Sol.

Luna, a rebel,
A loner,
Out past season's curfew.

Man and wife,
Span and strife,
Confined by Earth’s restraining order,
Never to meet face to face—
Arranged marriage.

Something old,
Something new,
Sol is borrowed,
Luna-- blue.

Sol, emasculated by Luna,
She steals his lucid light.

Sallow shimmer of sadness,
Replacing anger that lights the sky.

Battle fought religiously over kitchen table in the sky.

No voices, just gestures.
Not seen, but felt.
Earth remains idle,
Caught in middle of millennia of bickering.

Sol contemplates his existence--
Sinks into horizon’s death box.

Luna reawakens with relentless beauty,
Overshadows significant other.

Clink of glasses at non-Emaculate reception,
A celestial unity between two adversaries.

Copyright © 2009

Sunday, February 22, 2009

"The Ranting of a Closet Cynic" (Part One and Part Two, supposedly)

Walking upstairs, I notice the Christmas tree standing dormant in front of the living room windows. The plastic artificial evergreen remains idle with its adornment of cracked candy canes; a slightly grotesque scene. The counterfeit tree establishes a gloomy aura that incinerates happiness upon its attempted passage into my fiery home. The tree’s volatile existence remains hidden as the snow begins to fade away, replaced by sporadic brown patches of Kentucky blue grass. 'Tis proof of my procrastination.

I don’t have any aspirations in life, however, if in some rather odd way you, for some reason, feel better about yourself due to my recent displays of cynicism, I consider that an indirect form of misanthropy on my part.

I have to admit this isn’t my first attempt at writing a book; however, none of my “books” seem to advance past the pamphlet stage. I have already completed the task of embellishing the God-awesome title of this book with quotation marks to signify that, if all else should fail, as it obviously has, this literary unit shall end up morphing into a short story, thanks in part to my horrid time management skills.

You may thank me, personally, for not handwriting this book, due to my cryptic usage of cursive “writing” that is only readable by myself and a few elite others that were gifted with magnificent peepers. I accept gratuities in many forms, if you are in a generous mood. If you feel like sending fan mail, I accept that, too, however, for safety precautions, refer to the phone book.

If, for some strange reason, you believe I come off as arrogant, selfish, or egotistical, your thoughts are simply misconstrued. I like to think of myself as the non-existent God’s gift to the world. Yes, I’ve had some faults with religion. I’ve tried, yet have not failed, by any means. Heaven just isn’t ready to handle someone like me, but once I lock-pick those pearly gates, I shall be hanging out in the clouds, possibly; if it occurs to me upon being placed in my death box that there certainly is such a destination.

As I write this musing, my fellow comrades are engaging in a conversation that involves the comparison of cup sizes and bosom shapes. I find it hard to concentrate on MY story when THEY won’t shut their traps.

Now, where was I…Ah, yes, hats.

I like hats. Hats are mighty fine. They have a way of keeping your head safe from possible infernos caused by nuclear fall-outs, and they protect my rather large cranium from acid rain, flying monkeys, and the occasional sphincter-less fowl.

(More later) *runs off to steal candy from small children whilst humming a random Bob Dylan song (or Cat Stevens, can't decide)*


I am still stuck in this closet, yet I have no intentions of leaving this, possibly tentative, wardrobe receptacle, I guess one could call it. I...I...I will try and camouflage my cynical identity by wearing my optimist mask to portray myself as a convivial figure. It takes a vast amount of physical and mental effort to cast a veil upon my cynicism to divert your attention to my fictitious displays of optimism. Yet, for some reason, my original acts of randomness, and the ability to “connect” irrelevant paragraphs, still remain solid, in my opinion.

Now, I must admit I do try extremely hard to keep intruders out of my closet. You know the type... They're always trying to figure out what's wrong with you and how they can give you advice since they feel morally obliged to do so-- this used to be me. However, ever since I have called this closet of mine “home,” I have made good use of my time spent in this coffer by gathering my thoughts and evaluating my life. *crumples up paper and throws it on floor* Who am I kidding? To ‘ell with evaluations and expectations, I want enlightenment!

I do not know what life has in store for myself, however, if I had the opportunity to find out, I’d probably be stuck somewhere in Scranton, Pennsylvania near the security clearance while my flight takes off without me, somehow losing my baggage in the process. I do feel the need to be enlightened in some way, though, but not solely, by any means. I find that enlightenment is emitted from one human to another somehow…It’s hard to explain.

This poses a rhetorical question: Are my attempts to avert your attention from my cynicism to my potentially existentialist views on life working?

*picks up paper; un-crumples paper; struggles to read own handwriting on paper; throws paper on floor; rinses and repeat*

Copyright © 2009

Black Friday Hysteria

"Attention Wal-Mart shoppers, there are ten Blu-Ray DVD Players available in the Enterta--Get 'em!"

Black Friday shopping is a tradition of grandeur in my family. I enjoy the competitiveness involved in this fanatical form of consumerism. This version of shopping allows you to appreciate the material items you possess since you're fighting tooth and nail to obtain your purchases. What could be more intense than shopping alongside crazed consumers that are hyped up on Red Bull?

The art of Black Friday shopping sheds light to our barbaric materialist approaches on life. We are always seeking to buy new commodities to replenish our egos, release ourselves from boredom and increase our self-esteem. I have to admit, I am a victim of this vicious cycle and I will most likely never change my stubborn consumer ways. However, it's important that you fix your problems so you can satisfy the souls of hypocrites like me.

I believe Black Friday shopping should be an Olympic event. All you require is a team of four people. One person completes the heavy lifting, the second person is the sprinter, the third person is the strategist and the leader stands off to the side, with latte in hand, instructing their team members. The award, of course, is the Blu-Ray DVD Player you snagged from the Entertainment Department.

Black Friday shopping requires speed, strength, strategy, agility, the ability to use alliteration, and most importantly, extreme discipline. How many people do you know of that would be able to wake-up at 3AM to attend a sale at Penny's?

I must extend a large amount of gratitude to the retailers of caffeinated products, as Black Friday would be nothing without caffeine. Caffeine makes the world go 'round or at least the wheels of shopping carts. Without caffeine, store clerks would be sensible and refuse to work on Black Friday, thereby restricting our shopping addiction. Consumers without caffeine would be uncoordinated and sleep deprived. Thanks to caffeine, consumers can be as blood thirsty and as insane as possible, depending on their dosages.

While my family is not as gung-ho about Black Friday shopping as other people we still consider this type of highly-skilled shopping to be a great deal of fun. We feel it's our responsibility to help keep the economy on its toes. There's nothing more exhilarating than the feel of crisp, morning air, the warmth of hot java and the sight of a Plasma TV gleaming in a store window. People like us are required to keep the stock market from crashing during these desperate times.

Copyright © 2008-2009

The Man Who Would Be King

A troubled troubadour,
Tormented by filthy pleasing things.

He set out to reclaim his rightful throne.

Trilby, his crown,
Epiphone, his scepter,
London, his home.

Stuck in the shambles during infancy.

One last show as a dire escape from the rock underworld.

Copyright © 2009

Saturday, February 21, 2009

House of Cards

Trapped in a room made out of a deck of cards.

Queen of hearts boasts worthless riches,
Queen of Bitches.

King of diamonds questions his title,
Lineage is vital.

Seven of clubs bears good news,
Anticipated muse.

Ace of spades craves attention,
Awaits ascension.

Suit of colors, true to its name, intentionally plastered on the souls of cards that leave the stack.

Luck dealt separately in each hand,
Fortune grand.

Truth in every deal will soon reveal fate that lies ahead.

House collapsing as the song is sung, the word spoken -- free.

Copyright © 2009

Sunday, December 21, 2008

The Night 'Fore Black Friday

*This took me a couple of hours to write, as I used the same rhyme scheme as the original poem and every ending word in this poem rhymes with all of the ending rhymes in the original.

Please tell me what you think. Thank You! =]

'Twas the night 'fore Black Friday, when all through the house,
Mom was Googling, with the click of a mouse;
She found running shoes and the prices were fair,
Despite her tired and scraggly hair;
The family was nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Plasmas danced in their heads;
While Mama had java and I took a nap,
She plotted the plan and drew out a map,
I awoke to a rumble of startling chatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
There stood my mom with a large wad of cash,
"Time to go, hun, Best Buy's got a stash!"

With latte in hand and children in stow,
Excited to seek the Christmas cargo,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
"Sale at Penny's! Hurry up, my dear!"
My mom drove the car, so lively and quick,
We traveled to Penny's to get the first pick.

Reaching parking lot, we were ready for fun!
Realizing that our purchases may weigh a ton...

Stood a giant mall, filled with gifts ungiven,
Families, in long lines at different stores were riven.

Stretched from Walgreens, to the entrance of the mall!
Stood a mass of people that could start a brawl!

The Sun had not risen, the moon in the sky,
Yet what happened next did appeal to my eye,
The doors were now open and in people flew,
I, everyone, and their grandmothers, too.

Claustrophobic, I stood aloof,
Spotting scared workers take refuge on roof.

Darting corners and circling around,
Running shoes, radios and Rock Band, we found!

My mom wore her furs from her head to her foot,
While she told me briefly that I had to stay put;

Kitchenware was located all the way in the back,
But she admired a coat that was covered in black.

She only could purchase what she could now carry,
The checkout lines had turned quite scary.

But she saw her running shoes that stood aglow,
But seeing the price required a proper quid pro quo;
When she couldn't buy shoes, she clenched her teeth,
And the anger encircled her head like a wreath;
This surpassed the time she'd received free jelly,
From the jelly of the month club that had fattened her belly.

To what to her eyes did appear on a shelf,
A Plasma TV, which she picked out herself!

Though the shopping experience itself she did dread,
It excited her to see shorter lines up ahead;
She took me in hand as shoppers went berserk,
We had reached the checkout, though this man was a jerk,
From his bad morning breath to his under-plucked nose,
He said that we budged and he stepped on my toes!

Finally, it was time to make our dismissal,
And away we all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I must admit that the stores were a sight,
As we drove home with our finds with much delight.

Copyright © 2008

Surreal Escape

Embarking on an island,
Unseen by human eye,
I chart in isolation,
No neighboring boat- nor passerby.

No civilization befouls the sea,
For plague and ocean have not met,
Thy bid farewell, speaks thee,
Must clean up life's debris.

Sailing to nowhere,
In search of something,
Though may seem fruitless,
Must life have purpose?

Tale of my life,
Whirlpool swallows my existence,
Evaporates my being.

Soul slowly disintegrates,
Pulls me to the fruit of its loin,
Sea calls my name,
Taunts me.

Defiled by sea mist,
Sinks into crevices,
Catacombs lay beneath sea.

Dark abyss of gratitude,
Unable to elude its grasp,
Sea whispers peril.

Heart hampered-- non-existent gratification,
Lost beneath surface,
Accompanied by sailors passed on,
Sallow waters, unmarked graves.

Lost and bewildered,
In aquatic nightmare,
Flounder to surface.

Discerning water,
Common as chocolate milk,
Yet not as barbarous,
To lactose intolerant.

Though my life appears droll,
I must abdicate from reality,
Leaving evidence behind,
Of my surreal escape.

Copyright © 2008


To what do I owe this introduction,
But of course,
The grandness unseen,
I show no remorse,
I can't intervene.

The plot appears lonesome,
No style or content to accompany,
The little nothings that I present -- but a fragment of significance.

"Thank You for Not Smoking" signs litter walls in a smoggy room,
Minuscule deterrent to would-be non-smokers,
Thank you for not smoking in the smoking section.

"I love you's" dance across the pages,
Of over-rated novels,
Contemporary romance.

"I love you" means little,
Simple way to end a page and begin a new.

The phrase that now means short term -- till I find a replacement.

Tentative love -- unreal

Does minuscule mien not suffice you?

Copyright © 2008

A Realization

Tender cherry blossoms swayed in the wind,
Surrounded by zephyr -- calmness, beauty,
Basking in the spring sun enlightened my soul.

To some, this would ignite bliss,
But I was not satisfied,
I needed affirmation.

Now, I wish for the world to reverse before I had sinned,
Hoping that I could just feel the zephyr,
Its reassurance that all would be well -- the Sun accompanying its glory,
Before I had committed the misconception.

I admired the apple on the Tree of Knowledge.


Upon first bite,
Realizing my demise,
My stupidity,

Forced to exit the garden, I was unsure of the circumstances.

Copyright © 2008

Friday, April 4, 2008

Graffiti Hearts

(Meant to be spoken word or "slam" poetry to be spoken between an andante and moderato tempo [around 100BPM])

Emo heart--
Tortured, battered matter.

Graffiti on a blackboard,
Left like I left you.

Lawless, spineless love.

Beat -- 2, 3, 4.

Graffiti on a blackboard,
Nothing ever there.

Beat -- 2, 3, 4.

Nails on a chalkboard,
Shall I speak now?

Beat -- 2, 3, 4.

Nail 2 the heart--
Blood escapes now.

Beat -- 2, 3, 4.

Hard on the heart--
Life pressed against it.

Beat -- 2, 3, 4.

Shout, whisper, hum.

Kiss, smooch, grope.

Tickled pink and voiceless.

Happy, yet dead inside.

Noiseless heart speaks loud.

Tremors of the heart and
Terrors of the minded.

Beat -- 2, 3, 4.


Copyright © 2008

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Writer's Block

Trembling hands,
Dizzy mind,
Sweaty palms,
Heavy eyes.

Stressful soundless sleep.
Mind awakes, slowly.

My hand beholds my pen,
I write random reflections.

Clear, empty, wordless, thoughtless mind,
Repeating thoughts.
A thesaurus cannot help cure these repeating thoughts.

Thought. Thought.

Got it!

I rationalize, speculate, and conjure up new words to use.
Agony, treachery, torture of writer's block.
A scrumptious language I must soon learn.

Pitiful procrastinating perversion of the mind.

My cranium, bolted into my writing.

My thoughts,
Mailing themselves away from my mind.
No return address.

Well, what good am I as a postmaster of thoughts.

I try to manually think.

Think. Think.


What if I just stopped writing.

All of a suddenly stopped.

No more thinking.
No more thought process.
No more jumbled, good for nothing, use of words.


I stop writing.

I look out my window, noting the beautiful landscape of the world outside.

I made a pact.
I have to keep it.

I cannot write.

Oh, but the rolling hills and gently sloping--

Shut up, mind!

I'm through, done with.

I will never make it as a--

The rays of the sun stroke the land beneath.

The lakes and rivers nearby calmly flow, like the thoughts entombed deep within my mind.

That's it!

I must write...

The hills, the rivers and lakes, the valley - now, THAT is where I belong.

My mind becomes fruitful, offering a plentiful harvest of thoughts - many, many thoughts.

Stretching over the barren lands, through the trees, across the ocean to the ends of the world.

No mind like mine. No mind exactly the same. No mind as sublime as anyone else's.

Copyright © 2008

My Nightmare, Alive

Sometimes I wish it had all been just a dream...

My mind awakens from its thoughtless sleep,
The world, a blur, as thy eyes open,
The pure rememberance of yesterday's past, gone.

Fruitless acts spill from thy spirit,
Thy pen, overflowing with rot,
Spite, maliced thoughts,
Objected by most.

I toss, turn, drear at the tormented world,
A corrupted cascade of catastrophe.

My mind marvels at the lack of might of some,
The failure to foreshadow the false,
Reveal the truth,
Be not afraid of admitting your wrongs.

Wrongs are immediately revealed, long-lasting,
Rights are over-looked, unnoticed.

Copyright © 2008

Friday, January 4, 2008


The sublime call of life entombed within its very halls and rooms,
A ship filled with deep forgotten mysteries,
Waiting for its time of peace as its time of sorrow passes,
The world cries out for its lost souls, trapped beneath the waves,
The "unsinkable" ship calls the ocean bottom "home."

Copyright © 2008

Moonlight Howl

tremble in the moonlight
the wolves howl sharply
rabic animals calm pets

Copyright © 2008

Thursday, September 13, 2007


I canoe along the ocean-like lake,
Not a care in the world, not the sound of a motor.

My paddle, caressing the water with every stroke,
The canoe, walking on water, careful not to capsize,
Just my paddle and I, skimming the water.

Gazing upon the forest edge that meets the shore,
Noting the fire-burdened trees to our right,
Twigs and trunks, burnt and charred,
Victim to a decade of fires, vulnerable.

The forest, isolated and lacking inhabitants,
Centuries old, nearly forgotten,
Greets the world, "Hello", with its gift of oxygen,
No reply, no appreciation, no thanks.

The island just up ahead, holding a deserted house,
The crimson paint, chipped, the windows, broken,
The rocky shore of the island, barricades the house,
Years of memories, hidden behind its doors.

Remnants of its garage, hanging over the water below,
The foundation, crumbling and eroding away,
Days away from calling the rocky lake bottom "home",
The lake's castle, in its final resting place.

An old beat-up fishing boat, anchored at the house's dock,
The boat, natural, matching the landscape,
In its rightful home and place,
The ancient boat, swaying to and fro, in its own harbor.

Pondering creation's great accomplishments,
Reminiscing the beauty that surrounds me,
The serene setting, unknown to most,
Away from bustling cities and at peace.

I continue on my journey to nowhere, enjoying nature,
Bird calls surround me, the quiet splash of the water below,
The many throngs of mosquitoes, decorating the air above,
I make my way along the silent waves.

Home, sweet, home...

Copyright © 2007


My heart pierced with the thoughts of the past,
Will there ever be hope, for my heart is lost,
My eyes fear the the light, for I know it's bright,
This dagger, already so deep, I lack a strong grip.

My hears hear hate and sense its arrival,
I turn away and ignore reality, fake it,
My life turned abstract caused by fear,
The dagger, life on a string, heart weeps.

Reality bites, but I try to let go, escape,
I'm dreaming of a nightmare, so close, yet so far,
My thoughts are endless, my heart filled with regret,
This dagger, eternal, shows no sympathy.

Copyright © 2007


Throngs of horses, so wild, young and free,
The sound and feeling of their gallop
-no instrument can make,
Their sudden neigh, breaking the silence
-call of freedom.

Jet black and caramel coats,
Manes decorating their features,
One of the highlights of God's creations,
Tame creatures, gentle and humble.

Symbol for freedom, love, and hope,
Outstretched hand, comforting heart,
Their courage and bravery
-getting the best of us.

So wild, so young, so free...

Copyright © 2007

Monday, August 13, 2007

Fame and Heroes

Lohan and Hilton,
Misdemeanors, slap on the wrist,
Gaining fame by faults.

Everyday heroes,
Saving lives and loved ones,
Their stories forgotten.

Copyright © 2007


Actors - stage fright their demon,
Performance day, carrying their worries,
Show - Hit or miss, they will decide,
Their demise, revealed upon the final act.

News of talent scouts amidst the audience,
Their future, hanging by thread on opening night,
Ready for their performance, hurry to the stage,
Crossing fingers, the show is announced.

Curtain call.

Copyright © 2007

Tuesday, August 7, 2007


My life intertwined in a vine of hope,
Climbing to the top with no intentions,
What is expected is a mystery,
Anxious to reach the top of the vine.

Grapes all around as I try to reach my goal,
Laughing as I ascend to the top,
My confidence weakens as I approach the zenith,

The green grapes, sour with taste,
The eyes of jealousy soon await,
I reach the height of the vine,
My legs, grasped by the grapevine.

My body, carried into an inferno of grapes.

Hatred of fruit,
Vegans beware.

Copyright © 2007

Mind, Body, and Spirit

My mind, inhabited by thoughts of love,
Daring to escape in the form of passion,
My thoughts revealed to everyone around me,
Dexterity, what I need most.

My body, cloaked from the world,
Physique veiled from plain-eyed view,
Hiding behind a shaggy burlap sack,
Allure, what I lack.

My spirit, homely and encased in sorrow,
Happiness lacking, grotesquely fulfilled,
Walking on water, unapproachable dream,
Spontaneity, my better half.

Copyright © 2007

Sunday, May 6, 2007


Hands and feet shackled, shirtless backs whipped,
Unfortunate and unforgivable,
The world, losing all sense of humanity and moral,
The conclusion of Adam and Eve's demise.

Our fight for freedom has turned cold,
Our voice is left unheard,
Our eyes, open, but blind to morality,
God's message is heard, but are we listening?

Our hearts, the rocky, dark earth beneath our feet,
Our voices, fade with the voices of many,
Our eyes, blind from what's happening in our midst,
Our minds, controlled by the media's wishes.

Our wrong actions are shadowed by the works of others,
The human race, at stake, for our own wrongdoings,
Our acts, changing, will reverse morbid outcomes,
Standing together, we fight for freedom.

Copyright © 2007

Monday, April 9, 2007


Concealed aromas escape from bottle,
Essence of rose, departing spray.

Passion consumes,
In air exotic,
Propelled by love's romantic thought.

I, the wearer, masked behind perfume's power,
Entranced by scent.
Lust for the potion nestled on my body,
Those around me-controlled by mist.

The fragrance captivates its keeper,
I, the possessor, administer mist,
The elixir, a dangerous weapon,
My indulgence revealed.

My body, inhabited by sensuality,
The brew, the host upon my spirit.

With the last spray of its intoxicating fumes,
The marvel lingers.

Copyright © 2007

Thursday, April 5, 2007

The Sun

A luminous beacon of hope for the meek,
The light end of the tunnel, sinners seek,
The world’s clock strikes noon, burning shirtless backs,
Of unfortunate slaves carrying baskets and sacks.

War-hungry leaders seeking darkness, not light,
The world’s everlasting flame, forever burning bright,
Farmers cry out and pray for plentiful crops,
A loud silence of many, the world’s clock stops.

Amidst chaos and destruction, the beacon is lost,
The end of the Olympics, the world’s discus tossed,
Darkness falls upon the arrogant world below,
In revenge, the beacon, extinct, drops its halo.

The world stops turning, as the beacon expires,
Gloom falls upon bustling cities and great empires,
Silence and blindness, not a cry nor a tear,
Sooner than you think, Judgment Day draws near.

Copyright © 2007


Uncle Sam would sure have a laugh,
From Bush, to Washington, to William Taft,
A whole new world across the big “lake”,
Somebody help us all for Heaven’s sake!

From North to South to East to West,
Cape Cod to the Great Lakes to the Grand Canyon and the Key West,
Minnesotans strut their stuff in winter boots and coats,
In Florida they show off their sandals, while yachting in big boats.

From the Golden Gate Bridge in the West,
To the Brooklyn Bridge, claiming to be best,
The Great Lakes in Minnesota to fake lakes in Florida,
Claiming ponds to be lakes, oughta' sorta' bored ya'.

Copyright © 2007

The Weather Haiku Collection

Rain Drops

raindrops dive slowly
to the many umbrellas
far below the clouds


sunshine beams down low
to cities, parks, and beaches
many people hope


snow cascading from the sky
miraculous white
blanketing the land beneath


raging winds torment the coasts
placid winds near the main-lands


drops of sorrow descending
faster and faster
sun appears and joy ascends

Copyright © 2007


crystal blue open oceans
shared by the whole world
deep forgotten mysteries

Copyright © 2007

The Sense's Haiku Collection


Eyes view the whole world,
The world around us is viewed,
Even to the blind.


Ears hear everything,
The never-ending grapevine,
Even to the deaf.


Touching and holding,
The textures throughout the world,
Those closest to you.


Taste-test everything,
sweet, bitter, salty delights,
The Taste bud Dreamland.


Smell the sweet flowers,
Smell the not-so-pleasant trash,
Smells are everywhere.

Copyright © 2007

The Season's Haiku Collection


The onset of time,
Trees blossoming, birds singing,
Everywhere you go.


The sun gazes down,
Beach-goers are all around,
Swimming and playing.

Leaves of all colors,
Blow through the harsh, yet cold, wind,
Winter is nearing.


Snow falls from the sky,
Birds fly south and blizzards come,
Fireplaces burn.

Copyright © 2007


Someone is watching,
Somewhere they are concealed,
They are surely there.

Copyright © 2007

The Mysterious Miss Captain Juniper

The colossal sail and mast blowing to and fro,
“We must set sail before the season of snow”,
We all throw our hats up in congratulations,
"Sailors, sailors, man your stations."

Without a map and without a compass,
"Where is the gigantic ship headed, miss?",
"We are approaching the town of Aquarius",
"Where is Aquarius; aren’t we headed for Paris?".

"Paris is cold at this time of year",
"Aren't you interested in just visiting "here"?",
"Yes, Captain Juniper, but where is "here"?"
"You'll find out, within the next year.".

"What? The snow is soon drawing near",
"If we stay to long, ice cracking we'll hear",
"Oh, first mate Reynolds, stop making such a fuss",
"The worst that could happen... A whale the size of a bus".

So they sailed to what seemed like the ends of the Earth,
For the sailors, this voyage was meant to show her their worth,
For little did they know, their bravery was tested,
Captain Juniper was working, while the other crew rested.

This made her mad, so her powers were revealed,
She thought for a moment, and appeared an ice field,
"Captain, there's an ice field straight dead ahead",
"I know, Cooper, now go back to bed".

She was so obvious, yet her crew didn't have the slightest clue,
The ship cook came up to ask, "Would you like some Irish stew?",
"Not now, not now", Miss Captain Juniper replied,
"Miss Juniper, Miss Juniper, will you be my bride?".

So there it was, a wedding ceremony on a vessel,
The ship crew got back to work, while the honeymooners lay nestle,
But who asked Miss Captain Juniper's hand in marriage?
I can only tell you this; he owned a nice, white horse carriage.

But yet you're still wondering, who this mysterious ex-bachelor must be,
I can tell you this, it was where they met, under the plum tree,
They met in Aquarius, the land of the sea,
For them it was reality, but tis' fantasy for we.

For the land of Aquarius is fictional, dare I say,
The story, as fictional as Rumplestiltskin spinning gold from hay,
For Aquarius lies only in one’s dreams,
The only way to escape reality, it seems.

One can only travel there via dream,
Take heed to my warning, the travel to there is extreme,
The travel to Aquarius isn't for the weak of heart,
For the road there is depicted in your mind's fine art.

Alright, alright, you're making me feel flustered,
In order to answer your question, please give me ice custard,
Okay I'll tell you, I'll tell you it's true,
Her spouse is Crewmen Cooper, but the suspense must now ensue.

Copyright © 2007

The Meaning of Poetry

Poetry is a sandcastle, being washed away by the sea.

Poetry is a way to get out, for people just like me.

Poetry is silence, when no one will listen.

Poetry is sadness, when tears make eyes glisten.

Poetry is laughter, when you are in the mood.

Poetry is a weapon, when you get yourself in a feud.

Poetry is guidance, when you need to find the way.

Poetry is a voice, when you can't find something to say.

Poetry is anger, when you need to yell.


Copyright © 2007

The Green-Eyed Monster

To tell a lie is an unfortunate act,
For a lie is an evil, wrongdoing pact,
What goes around comes around in daily life,
Till the day you die by nature or by knife.

White lie or not every lie is wrong,
Even the littlest lie ends in a sad song,
Tis' lies that brought great empires down,
It forced some monarchs to give up their crown.

Whether peasant, warrior, king, or queen,
They all had to be sent to stocks on the village green,
Your greatest friend one day, could not be the next,
All because of a lie, your friendship be hexed.

Abstain from the dark art of lie-telling,
Tis' sat*n who ye' your soul be selling,
Take heed to my warning and forever tell the truth,
Set a good example for this generation's youth.

Copyright © 2007

The Climbing Vine

There was a vine that was colored red,

It was so tall it touched my head,

I climbed the vine that ran so high,

I was headed right towards the sky,

I climbed on a cloud that was shaped like a square,

The vine was 100 times longer than my hair,

Then the vine wrapped around my feet.

I felt the pitter-patter of people drumming a beat,

I felt like a drummer,

Beating their drum,

I beat the drum, Rum-a-tum-tum,

I was eager to enter the kingdom above.

In fact, I found a magical dove,

The dove was shaped like a hydroplane,

Then, I heard a choo-choo train,

It was headed toward a cloud as lout as thunder,

I thought the train wouldn't make it under!

I was right,

Or so I thought,

The train tied the cloud into a knot,

Then, with a great big boom,

The cloud burst, and I went zoom!

I slid down the vine, and started to fly,

As I bid farewell and descended from the sky,

Than I finally reached the ground,

But as I fell,

I didn't make a sound.

Then, I finally knew what's-up,

As my mother yelled "Get Up!"

Even though it didn't seem,

I knew that it was just a dream.

Copyright © 2007


Rain falling from the gray, cloud-ridden sky,
Clouds like smokestacks, billowing so high,
People below holding, firmly, umbrellas brief,
For some it brings freedom,
For most it brings grief.

Teardrops from angels, falling lightly,
People wishing for the sun, shining brightly,
Sadness, like a woman weeping,
Joyfulness, with happiness seeping.

Wonders of what the new day will bring,
Crows, foretelling bad luck, or bluebirds, joyful, sing,
Children, waiting for rain to cease,
Rainfall comes, bringing everlasting peace.

Copyright © 2007

Ode to Lake Superior

Waters ever-so serene with peaceful weather while waves stall,
Roaring and tyrant waves torment the lake after the season of fall,
Seagulls, turtles, and hawks roam the shores,
Ferocious armies of mosquitoes, one by one, escape from Heaven's doors.

A freshwater ocean painted on a painter's canvas,
Claiming lives of the innocent by hundreds, alas!
Its rocky bottom, which many ships call home,
Ship wreckage of centuries, hidden by sea foam.

Hills and forests with colossal tress line its shore,
Sea monsters, ghosts, and other Lake Superior lore,
Varieties of fish in schools of many,
Superior shines, like a brand new penny.

What are the secrets of Superior, you say?
Well, I could tell you, but I only have a day,
What has happened in past histories,
There will always be undiscovered mysteries.

Copyright © 2007

Middle School Mayhem

Middle school is such a bore,
Crowds of students rushing to the door,
Teachers scolding the innocent,
But ignoring the clearly incompetent,
Conductor-like teachers, shameful of their class,
Class is in session while students pass various gas.

Flirting, snagging, and butt-pinching too,
The lives of a middle schooler are long past due,
Dating, kissing, and hugging as well,
I'm sure this don't happen to the Farmer in the Dell,
Noisy classrooms and crazy teachers,
Students, teachers, principals, and auditorium preachers.

Cafeteria food crawling off your plate,
The cafeteria food, so much I hat*,
Talk of the warts, lice, and wake-up pimples,
Why are you staring at me with those huge dimples,
Everyone always in an unnecessary spat,
Always about this and that and "You ran over my cat!".

There goes the morning bell,
I'm goin' in, and wish me well!

Copyright © 2007


Behind a veil of invisibility, I wait.
Waiting for my long-lived fate.

Will I take off the veil, revealing my face?
Will he leave me, without a trace?

Will I wait, for his awaited return?
Or, shall his remembrance, in my heart burn?

Will my thoughts be imprinted in his mind?
Or, is it true love that I must wait to find?

Will this veil, finally be gone?
My name, still left un-drawn?

Will I survive without his love?
This warm love, in the form of a dove?

Is the show over, it's uncertain.
Now, it's time to close the curtain.

Invisibility, all around,
My heart, is still left unfound.

Copyright © 2007


Heaven is no longer a mystery.

Heaven is joy and happiness.

Heaven is emotions and feelings.

Heaven is family and friends.

Heaven is love and romance.

Heaven is everyday life.

Heaven is everywhere.

If you seek, you shall find!

Copyright © 2007